


Schrödinger’s Box

by MatildaSwan



Category: Thick of It (UK)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Verbal Humiliation, wank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:44:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatildaSwan/pseuds/MatildaSwan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was better to pretend that she took the verbal abuse, the humiliation, because it came hand in hand with longevity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Schrödinger’s Box

**Author's Note:**

> Written for kinkbingo: humiliation (verbal) and a_writing_muse: machine. Lisa, I love you.

It shouldn’t do this to her. _He_ shouldn’t do this to her. He _didn’t_ do this to her: or so she tried to tell herself. If any other man, any other _human_ on the planet, talked to her like he did, she’d box their ears. She’d leave a carcass behind where their hide used to be and entrails spewed across the floor. The ghosts of ex-lovers and overeager strangers could attest to that. 

He was different, and she didn’t know why. 

It was easier to tell herself it was for the sake of her job, her career. It was better to pretend that she took the verbal abuse, the humiliation, because it came hand in hand with longevity. She was a politician. Politics and Malcolm Tucker were a combined deal. There was nothing she could do about that, the Party without Malcolm was a machine with rust in the cogs where oil should be. He was the greasy bastard that kept all the gears turning; kept everyone malleable with saliva and blood, his and theirs. That was how he worked; words were his weapon and he always cut deep. So she took it, the shouting and the swearing and ‘violent sexual imagery’ and attempted to amalgamate it into her stride. That’s all there was to it. 

She had herself mostly convinced. 

As long as she ignored the wetness of her knickers, and the flood of heat that rushed through her body whenever she saw his bollocking face. So long as she ignored the shiver his presence sent crawling up her spine; managed to bit back the moans at the back of her throat, always threatening to claw their way out whenever he got too close. Pretended she didn’t want to launch herself across the room, across her desk and devour him like an éclair; have his hands ravage her, fingers buried inside her as his mouth fucked with her mind. Because she didn’t want that: _couldn’t_ want that. That opened up a whole box of cats she wasn’t prepared to deal with. It was best to heed Schrödinger’s theory and never open the box. 

Solid advice, for the most part. 

Until she was alone, late at night; still at the office, wrapped up in deadlines for tomorrow and regrets about the day ending. Or at home, a drink in hand to massage out the kinks in her back, because she couldn’t reach them no matter how much yoga she did and no one offered anymore. When the silence around her was a reminder of how tired she was, rather than the promise of relaxation. When nothing stopped her traitors mind from ignoring her own carefully constructed box and start remembering every depraved, filthy word that fell from his mouth; to start imagining every desire of hers that mouth could fulfil. Nothing stopping her remembering every twitch of his upper lip as he berated her for her complete incompetence: every flip of his hand as he screamed about her stupidity; her overall status as a waste of human existence. 

Then her body betrayed her willpower and her hand found its way between her legs and she came with Malcolm’s voice in her ear.


End file.
